Regency Rogues: Rakes' Redemption: Return of the Runaway (The Infamous Arrandales) / The Outcast's Redemption (The Infamous Arrandales). Sarah Mallory
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at the lady, noticed how tightly her hands were clasped together as she waited for his answer. She was also a woman and for all her bravado she was vulnerable and alone and it was not in his nature to turn his back on a defenceless creature.
He would prefer to travel to Brussels, but he had to admit that without money to pay his way any journey would be difficult. And once they reached a port he might well be able to find a ship to take him north along the coast.
‘How much?’
She shook her head.
‘I cannot say. I will pay for a carriage from Reims and our lodgings on the way and after that I need to find a ship to carry me home. I do not know how much all that will cost. However, if you will trust me, I will give you whatever I can spare, once I have booked my passage to England.’
Well, whichever way he went there was danger, but Raoul could not deny that the going would be easier if he had money.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will help you.’
She smiled, visibly relieved.
‘Good.’ She put out her hand. ‘In England our tradesmen shake hands on a bargain. We will do the same, if you please.’
His brows went up, but after a brief hesitation he took her hand. Once they had shaken solemnly he did not let go, but carried her hand to his lips.
‘Now I consider our bargain sealed, milady.’
He might have been holding a wild bird, the way her fingers fluttered within his grasp. Desire reared up again and he wanted to pull her into his arms. A shadow of alarm crossed her face. Had she read his mind? Perhaps she, too, was recalling that moment in the pool when she had wrapped herself about him, their warm bodies melding together in the cold water. Had she felt that tug of attraction?
‘Yes, very well.’ She pulled her hand free and turned away from him, saying briskly, ‘If we are going to travel together, then the first thing is to find you a decent set of clothes, and a razor. You are a disgrace. I cannot have my servant dressed in rags.’
His lip curled. There was his answer. That was what she thought of him.
‘So, madame, I am to be your servant?’
The look she gave him would have frozen the sun.
‘Of course. I am the daughter of a marquess and—’
He broke in angrily. ‘I do not acknowledge that your birth gives you superiority over me.’
Cassie had been about to confess that it would not be easy for her to imitate the behaviour of a servant. She had intended it to be self-deprecating, but his retort sent all such thoughts flying and she responded with icy hauteur.
‘I shall be paying you for your services, monsieur, since I have money and you do not.’
She was immediately ashamed of her response. It was ill bred, but his bitter interruption, the assumption that she was so full of conceit as to think herself superior, had angered her. Yet that in itself was wrong. What was it about this man that put her usual sunny nature to flight so easily? She was still pondering the problem when he jumped to his feet.
‘Well, now we have settled our roles in this little charade we should be on our way.’
He held out his hand to her, his face unsmiling, his eyes black and cold. As he pulled her to her feet Cassie bit back the urge to say something conciliatory.
This is how it should be. You do not want to become too close to this man.
He would help her reach England, she would pay him. It was a business arrangement, nothing more.
When they reached the city gates the road was so crowded and bustling with traders and carriages they were able to slip through without being questioned. The savoury aroma of food emanating from a busy tavern tempted them to stop and dine.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Cassie, when they had finished their meal and were once more on the street, Raoul leading their tired horse. ‘My preference is to find a respectable inn, like the one ahead of us, but...’ she paused and, recalling their recent altercation, she chose her next words carefully ‘...I fear our appearance would cause comment.’
Raoul rubbed his chin. ‘Yours may be explained by an accident to the carriage, but I agree my clothes are not suitable for a manservant. I have a plan, but I will need money, milady.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What do you intend?’
‘You will go ahead of me, tell them your servant follows. I will find new clothes and join you in an hour.’
Cassie dug a handful of coins from her purse and gave them to him, then she watched him walk away. There was a tiny frisson of anxiety at the thought that he might not return.
‘Well if he does not come back there is nothing I can do about it,’ she told herself as she turned her own steps towards the inn.
Despite her own dishevelled appearance Cassie’s assured manner and generous advance payment secured rooms without difficulty. She requested a jug of hot water and set about repairing the ravages to her hair and her dress. She was only partly successful, but once she had washed her face and hands and re-dressed her hair she felt much more presentable. A servant came in to light the candles and Cassie realised with a start that darkness was falling outside now. Where was Raoul?
She sat down on a chair and folded her hands in her lap, willing herself to be calm. If he had taken the money and gone on his way she could hardly blame him, but she could not help feeling a little betrayed and also very slightly frightened at the thought of being alone.
Her ears caught the thud of quick steps on the stairs and she rose, looking expectantly towards the door, only to stare open-mouthed as a stranger entered the room.
Gone was the rough beard and shaggy, unkempt hair. Gone, too, were the ragged clothes. In fact, the only things about Raoul Doulevant that she recognised were his dark eyes, alight with laughter.
He was, she realised with a shock, devastatingly handsome. His black hair had been cut and brushed back from his brow. His cheeks, free of the heavy black beard, were lean and smooth above the firm jaw. His lips were so finely sculpted that Cassie felt a sensuous shiver run through her just looking at them. He stood tall and straight in a coat of dark-blue wool that stretched over powerful shoulders. The white linen at his throat and wrists accentuated the deep tan of his skin, while his long legs were encased in buckskins and top boots that showed his athletic limbs to advantage. To complete the ensemble he held a pair of tan gloves and a tall hat in hands. He flourished a deep bow and Cassie swallowed, unable to take her eyes off him. The laughter in his eyes deepened.
‘Well, milady, do I have your approval?’
‘Very much so.’ Her voice was nothing more than a croak and she coughed, hoping to clear whatever was blocking her throat. ‘Where did you find such elegant clothes in this little town?’
He grinned. ‘There are ways.’
It was all he would say and she did not press him. On closer inspection it was seen that the coat and breeches were not new and although the boots were highly polished they bore signs of wear. However, Raoul Doulevant presented the picture of a very respectable gentleman and Cassie glanced ruefully at her own clothes.
‘I fear the servant is now more grand than the mistress.’
‘That is a concern,’ agreed Raoul, coming further into the room. ‘When I arrived the landlord took me for your husband.’
‘Oh, heavens.’ She put a hand to her cheek, distracted by memories of standing with him beneath the waterfall. Suddenly her mind was